


the language of flowers (and nincompoop viscounts)

by AlwaysInSonder



Series: Plance Anthology [13]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: CW: Mentions of child abuse, Enola Holmes AU, F/M, Victorian era, Yall im just fully projecting plance onto them lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26835124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysInSonder/pseuds/AlwaysInSonder
Summary: After spending many weeks helping a young, runaway Marquess escape assassination and inadvertandly solve the mysterious deaths of the male heirs of his family, Pidge thinks back to their goodbye, wondering if she will ever see the handsome, young nobleman again.
Relationships: Lance/Pidge (Voltron), Lance/Pidge | Katie Holt
Series: Plance Anthology [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1262111
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	the language of flowers (and nincompoop viscounts)

**Author's Note:**

> It might be advisable to watch the movie first before reading this if you were intending to watch the movie. Also, I realise I'm leaning heavily on canon events of the movie so there's a good chance this whole story won't make sense to those who have not watched it lol That being said, this isn't as good (this fic isn't representative of the movie at all lol) as I would have liked, but I hope you will enjoy it nonetheless!

One year, two months, seventeen days, three hours and fourteen minutes. That was precisely how long Katherine Holt - however she quite preferred to be referred to as  _ Pidge  _ \- had spent on the run. 

There were days where she wondered if she was being led in circles. Following the breadcrumbs of a man long dead...and long unable to leave sufficient clues to explain his disappearance. 

Her journey so far had been nothing short of intrigue, filled with strange encounters and close brushes with death. She escaped the clutches of the law and bounty hunters after the generous finder’s fees her father had advertised for her safe return.

Pidge jumped as the train’s horn blared, glancing out the window again to see that they were pulling into a station. A quick glance at her mother’s old watch showed that she still had three hours in her journey today, before she could finally wash off the smoke and grime coated on her skin. 

She sighed heavily, sitting back against the plush velvet of the seat, working the kinks out of her neck. She glanced out the window as the lush green Arusian countryside whizzed past in a blur. 

It was difficult for her to think that mere months ago, she had been confined to the boundaries of her childhood home in the country. Her father in the city, losing himself to his work in vain efforts of shaking off his grief over the death of his wife. Her brother, after attending their mother’s funeral, disappeared with no trace. And after many attempts by her father in vain for months, was presumed dead. 

Her father left her in the care of a distant aunt, not wanting to expose her to the dangers of city life as a young woman (and fearing losing another family member). Pidge wished he would have taken her with him, but that horrid aunt of hers had planted ideas into his head that she would be the mother ten-year-old Pidge desperately needed and that she would raise her as her own. 

Pidge had wished she could tell him about how that woman secretly abhorred her mother. She'd called her delusional; for refused to give her daughter a ‘traditional women’s education’. But ever since her father left, her letters to him were carefully monitored and her bedroom door and window tightly locked in the night so she may not escape as she had attempted many times before.

The wretched aunt also locked the precious family library - her one comfort in her isolation and instead, took great pleasure in beating - literally and figuratively - the “wildness” out of her, determined to shape her into an impossible ideal. Pidge eventually figured the woman was after her father’s money, squirrelling away all the funds he had sent them for Pidge's upbringing into her own purse. 

Her only reprieve in those times was re-reading her mother’s old journals, imagining the same boisterous youth she had for herself. It truly was luck, that all it took for Pidge to escape, was for a strange, unmarked letter to turn up on their doorstep, written in the distinct neat cursive that was her brother’s who was thought to be long dead. From the small strokes over the serifs of certain words, - a style so distinctly his - Pidge had known right away that it was a cipher. 

His letter - which her aunt scrutinised carefully before tossing it her way - granted her her freedom. She found a message that led her to finding a small fortune stuffed in his old closet, a spare key of her room leading to a hurried escape from her home with no trace and a short-lived train journey, cut short by the need to escape the assassin of the  _ strangest  _ Marquess she had ever met. 

* * *

_ “Won’t you give me a name?” The Marquess pouted after her, brushing the grass off his pristine white suit. He truly was a moron to run away in such fine nobleman’s clothes. “The journey to Altea is at least three days on foot. I can’t just keep calling you the ‘strange not-gentleman’.”  _

_ “Pidge. Pidge Gunderson.” He needn’t know her real name. They needed to part ways once they reached Altea. Her brother’s cryptic message would necessitate her breaking into the Royal Library and she was sure a young titled man would take great issue with that. “I’ll make this clear, we’ll go our separate ways when we-” _

_ “Gunderson? You don’t look like the Earl’s daughter. She’s only three years old.”  _

_ Pidge’s heart stopped. She should have picked a simpler name than that. “Um...no. My family has no title.” _

_ “Gunderson is a titled family name,” he was frowning at her now. “Oh come on. I’ve told you my full name, it’s only fair-” _

_ “Fine. It’s Holt. Katherine Holt.” She threw her hands up in exasperation. What point was there to hiding it now? She was already thrown way off course from her plans thanks to him. “But I insist you call me Pidge. You must also forget the name as soon as we part ways in Alt-” _

_ “Well, then I insist you call me Lance,” he grinned, kneeling to pluck something from the lush meadows that surrounded their path and easily falling into step with her fast pace with his long legs. He handed it to her; a daisy. “Hang on...did you say your last name was... _ Holt _?”  _

_ Pidge resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She didn’t expect someone like him would appreciate who her father and brother were. “Yes, yes. Daughter of Samuel and sister of Matthew of Holt & Sons Industries fame. I’m aware-” _

_ “No. I was referring to Colleen Holt.”  _

_ Pidge stilled, her heart skipping at the mention of her mother’s name. It had been a long time since anyone had said the name out loud. Her father couldn’t bring himself to even look at her portrait.  _

_ “Wh-what?” _

_ Lance rummaged through his satchel, pulling out a worn out, leather-bound book. A few pages fluttered out and Pidge caught sight of several sketches of flowers and herbs. “She wrote An Extensive And Incomplete Encyclopaedia of Medicinal Flowers and Herbs, didn’t she?” Lance beamed, showing the cover to her proudly. “My sister, Veronica, gifted me this book ages ago. I’ve been absolutely enamoured with botany since. There’s a river that runs through our estate and in the summers, after going for a swim, I’d go picking herbs in the meadows nearby. When my brothers return from the hunt, we use the herbs and the pheasant they caught to make this delicious roast and-” _

_ Lance paused and she quickly realised she had been gawking at him. _

_ “Is something the matter?”  _

_ “Gather the plants, I’ll start a fire,” she mumbled, brushing past him.  _

Pidge shook her head, ridding herself of the memory and patting her warmed cheeks. They had more in common than she would like to ever admit - his father and brothers killed in mysterious ways, her brother and mother long gone - and they’d spend way more time together than she had ever planned for. 

But now with the assassin bested after many weeks of disguises, running and finally implicating him, and the young Marquess free to live his life as he wished, they finally parted ways. 

Even after a year, she couldn’t forget him.

But now, she needed to focus on her original task. Finding her brother. 

The Marquess - his full title being Viscount Azurian, Marquess of Daibazaal - had offered to help her in turn out of gratitude, but she had to refuse. This was an undertaking she had to go about alone, even if she had come to enjoy his company.

_ The wrought iron gates between them were far more symbolic than she would have liked. It made her think of a cage - albeit a gilded one - and her heart wept for Lance. He briefly enjoyed some freedom of being a regular boy, but now, he had to return to his station in life. It also made her think of distance, of the space between her and family and the gap she desperately sought to fill. The young man before her had done just that, but it was beyond her why she had opted to leave him.  _

_ She did know why. His place was here. In the grand estate of Daibazaal. Where he would become a Lord as his fathers and brothers should have, mercilessly killed by a distant and jealous uncle. The similarities between them were getting uncomfortably close. _

_ “I wouldn’t mind it you know.”  _

_ “Mind what?” _

_ “Leaving it all behind; the title, inheritance, all of it.”  _

_ The intensity of his gaze made her shiver. It was not the first time he had looked at her this way, but she certainly was not getting used to it.  _

_ "But your sister-” _

_ “Is far more capable as a land owner than I can ever hope or want to be. She’s been managing the estate herself all these years since father died.”  _

_ "Your family still needs you.” She nodded behind him where Lance’s mother waved and his sisters waited. _

_ Lance closed his eyes and sighed, looking to the floor. Something in Pidge knew what exactly was going through his head. The same thoughts had flitted through her own mind at one point. The desire for freedom. The desire to break away and forge her own path.  _

_ "How...when...when shall we meet again?” Lance smiled as he asked, but his eyes were misting over. Pidge’s heart ached, but she reluctantly pulled her hand away from his.  _

_ “You’re not rid of me yet, Viscount Azurian, Marquess of Daibazaal.” She forced a smile, but averted her gaze to her boots, unable to look at him. It seemed he did not realize how difficult it would be for them to meet again. _

_ Lance laughed goodnaturedly, and reached through the bars. His hand found hers again and Pidge froze. She lifted her gaze, meeting his own just as he lifted her hand to his lips. Her cheeks flamed and she didn’t know why she felt her heart... flutter. It was the strangest sensation and something she’d never felt before. It must be some odd malady that she needed to have a doctor look over. A shaky sigh escaped her lips and she inhaled slowly to gather herself; his kiss still warm on her skin. _

_ She didn't miss his longing look as he watched her ride away in her carriage into the Arusian countryside. _

_ It is not until she returned to her rented room and reached for her bag, did she realize a small bouquet stuck out of it. Pink roses, white carnations and forget-me-nots. She laughed, picking it up carefully to caress it’s soft, curved petals.  _

_ “Maybe I will see you yet, Viscount Nincompoop.”  _

She rested her hand over the back end of her notebook, where she had carefully pressed some of the flowers from his bouquet. The path she walked now was her own, but it never hurted to keep a sweet memory. 

She sat up straight and returned her attention to the last letter her brother left her, tracing the series of strategic but subtle strokes and flourishes, hoping to uncover more clues. She’d tried various combinations of codes. She even broke into his Altea office with Lance to search for any clues and pored through the many pieces of literature closed off to the public in the Royal Libraries, all to no avail. It was the first time her brother had stumped her and it frustrated her to no end. 

At least, she was assured she was on the right path. The contents of the letters stipulated a verbal map she needed to take and she was certain she had crossed out at least half of them in her pursuit. 

"Ticket please.” 

Pidge pulled the stub from her pocket, not looking up from her book. Her finger traced through the novel, looking carefully through the sentences for the barely noticeable pencil marks her brother would leave. Her brows furrowed as she spotted a successive row of ticks, each carefully placed on the serif of the letters so not to arouse suspicion to the untrained eye. 

“I’m afraid you’ve given me the wrong ticket.”

On her lap, laid an open notebook where she had carefully jotted down the cipher. She’s not concerned about people reading her notes. Her handwriting alone was indecipherable and with the locomotive’s swaying, was only made so much more atrocious. Her aunt had long given up trying to beat it out of her. 

“See here lad, this ticket is for transport to the Azurian countryside.” 

_ L….A….G…. _

“Lad?”

_ A….R…. _

“Boy, I’m gonna have to ask you to get off at the next station-”

“There you are!” The new voice broke Pidge out of her thoughts. A young man calmly entered her train cabin, handing the conductor two tickets. “Apologies, good Sir. My friend here can get quite scatter-brained once her- ah,  _ his  _ nose is in a book.” 

Pidge gawked at him as he sat gracefully before her, crossing his leg in the well-bred way he did. The conductor left with a sigh, shaking his head as he did. She never thought she would see him again this soon.

“We meet again, Mr. Pidge... _ Gunderson _ I believe?” He grinned wide, leaning forward across her. 

"What on earth are you doing here?” She glanced out the carriage windows, hoping no one could hear how her voice pitched. 

"Don’t you believe in fate?"

"Of course not." Pidge scoffed.

“Well, I certainly do now.” He fell back against the velvet seat, his grin still solidly fixed to his face. “How likely is it that I see your pretty face from across the station while I’m on the run once more? And how serendipitous! I’m meeting you on a  _ train _ , yet again. “

“Serendipitous my foot. You  _ stalked  _ me.” Pidge felt the tips of her ears warm and turned her gaze back to the notebook. Unfortunately, her focus was not with her.

“I took your advice and dressed as the most unlikely thing to escape, by the way.” He laughed as Pidge shot him an incredulous look. “I have to say, I quite like how corsets make my shoulders look broader than they are.” 

“You’re  _ joking _ .” 

“Nope,” Lance grinned. “I believe I had some suitors following me. Truly is tough being a beautiful woman, eh?” He winked at her, referring to the time she had tried to leave him the first time they met and she retorted that he dress as a woman to escape his killer.

“You  _ truly  _ are a nincompoop,” she shook her head in disbelief. “I was being sarcastic! I never thought you’d actually take my advice. No one ever does!” 

“Why wouldn’t they? Aren’t you a genius?” Lance’s brow lifted in genuine query.

But he didn’t wait for an answer. His hand lifted and Pidge froze. He brushed it gently over her brow, tracing over the pale scar that ran along the side of her head, hidden beneath her hairline. A scar earned in a scuffle with his assassin, a musket to the head while saving his life. She knew her cheeks were pink, but it was hard to care when his magnetizing blue eyes looked straight into hers.

“Let me help you.” 

“W-why…”

“Because I missed you Katie,” he whispered. “You saved my life. I’m indebted to you.” His hand dropped but he was still leaning forward, looking directly at her. “And...ever since we said goodbye at the gates... I’ve been thinking about nothing but escaping again,” Pidge avoided his eyes. He was giving her the same look he had when he offered to leave everything for her. “And I decided...that I can’t live the life I want if I just run away or remain as I am. Not when I’ve found my calling.” 

“And what’s that?” she mumbled, gulping at the intensity of his gaze. 

“Travelling the world,” he shook his head, looking out the window of the passing countryside. “Discovering flowers and plants from far flung corners of the world…”

Pidge gasped, staring back down at the letter in her hands. All this time, she had been keeping her search radius within the Kingdom of Altea. She hadn’t even considered looking beyond.

_ L...A...G...R...A... _

_ Galra. The Galran Kingdom.  _

“Perhaps you’re not so useless after all.” 

“Why thank you, Ms Holt.” Lance blinked, looking up from her letter back to her in confusion. “I’m guessing you’re still deciphering your brother’s letter?” 

“I believe I’ve finally solved it,” she sighed, packing away her notebook quickly. “We’re getting off at the next stop. We need a steam boat.” 

Lance’s brows rose but he nodded slowly. “Well, then. I expected nothing less. It’s always been a whirlwind journey with you.” He gave her a wink. “Not that I’m complaining.” 

“Even with the  _ impropriety  _ of it all?”

“You never cared for propriety. Why, you almost had me sleeping in your-”

“That was different,” she cut him off with a huff. “Well the first thing I’d need to do is cut your hair. You can’t say no this time. It’s what got us caught the other times.” 

“Very well.” Lance grinned. “Though I must say, there’s a very simple solution that can double as a good cover.”

“And what is that?”

He reached into his coat pulling out a single pink Spider flower.

“Marry me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! <3


End file.
